ain't nobody getting in between
by safeandsound13
Summary: Puck tells Finn there's five kind of girls in your life before you settle down. AU. Finn/Rachel, with heavy Finn/Puck friendship and mentions of Quinn/Puck. M for mentions.


**(a/n reminder: do not let me watch standup shows because i will take it out of context and turn supposed-to-be-funny-jokes into serious one shots. okay.**

**i miss them. so i wrote this.**

**very au. i guess if there wasn't a glee club and rachel and finn met in a different way and then things escalated very quickly and stuff. it's just au, okay?**

**please review if you can *insert heart eyes emoji***

**the title is from stickwitu by the pussycat dolls and the song in this once shot is ain't nothing bout you by brooks & dunn, the song referenced somewhere in this fic is about a girl by the academy is.)**

.

_all you gotta do is smile at me and down i go_

_and baby it's no mystery why i surrender_

_girl, you got everything_

.

Puck told him once, you know, this really _shitty _thing about girls that was kind of mean and super arrogant. They were like twelve years old and playing video games and he knew Puck had had his first kiss, and second and third and probably hundredth and he want to feel like a loser so he didn't say anything. He didn't say anything when Puck commented on how hot Mrs. Bloom was from third period and he didn't say anything when he told him there were five were five types of girls in your life before you settle down.

Now, Puck was a good guy and all (just a little slutty, but he loved him anyway) but something about treating girls like things, felt...kind of...wrong. When he thought about someone treating his mom like that, like someone saw her as a cupcake but only wanted the icing or something—he wasn't good with the whole_ metasores_ thing—he wanted to punch something. Or rather just kick something. (He'd considered a career in soccer but they told him he was too tall).

Now, shit, he wasn't a pussy either, because he loved girls, he did. But he always pushed the thought to the back of his mind until he reached the age of about fifteen, trying out his first beer when he asked Puck—the most experienced drinker between the two of them and the rest of the state—about it.

"You remember that thing you told me, when we were like eleven and a half or something?"

Puck burps loudly before raising his eyebrows, "Way to be specific, bro. By the way, did you check out Lopez's ass in that cheerleader skirt today? Damn, she really grew them latina curves over summer." He smirks broadly as he throws his beer bottle over his shoulder and reaches for a new one.

Finn rolls his eyes because Santana was really pretty and all, but after she started talking, and with talking he meant insulting everything and everyone around her, she really wasn't all that attractive anymore. "That thing about five girls or stages or something?"

Puck sends his best bro a frown in return before his eyes light up, a grin forming on his lips. "Ohhh, the five girls in your life before you sacrifice. And with 'sacrifice'," he air-quotes, spilling beer all around him, "I mean get fucking married, settle for a low paying dead-ass job and compulsory bi-monthly missionary sex."

Puck downs the remainder of his beer in gulp before nudging him slightly with his elbow, "What about it?"

"What were the five...uhm," He struggles to get out, figuring it's better to ask now with the hope he'll get so drunk he won't remember anything than to take the risk of asking him later in life and getting punched in the stomach for acting like a girl about it.

"The five chicks before you lose the use of your dick?"

"Right." He pulls on the label of his condensated beer bottle, trying not to look at his friend. He's pretty sure he's blushing. Which would qualify being a pussy. And he isn't a pussy. He really isn't.

"Well there's the booty call, which is obvious really, doesn't matter what time you call her, she'll be there. Then comes the chick with benefits, who's like your friend and then one drunken night you accidentally slip your dick into her," Puck chuckles and Finn scrunches up his face, pushing against his shoulder.

"I don't need any details, asshole."

"Okay, fine. Next comes the chick that only has your number, right? She doesn't have your email, facebook or your home address because at least you can change your number and you know, just dump her. Easy riddance."

Finn snorts. "Classy."

"You know me," Puck retorts without skipping a beat as he continues, "Number two is the chick who would be number one if there wasn't something wrong with her. Like she has a boyfriend or like, smelly feet."

Finn takes a sip of his beer, it tastes way too bitter for his liking but he's not going to say that out loud, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And then your number one is like the chick you marry me, or something?"

"Yeah, someone you want it to work out with. Or some shit. I don't know. I'm still at chick five. Working on chick four with Santana, but she ain't as easy as she seems."

Puck chuckles and starts talking some more shit about Santana's ass before transitioning into her boobs but he isn't really listening.

Are guys really that much of an assholes? Dividing girls into certain types and ditching them when they were done? Treating girls like nothing more than a step to get closer to the one you really want?

The only conclusion he comes up with is 'probably' or 'hell yes fucking right'.

The thought really doesn't leave his head anymore after that night.

.

It didn't start out as a bootycall, like he didn't start sleeping with her with the intention to only you know, sleep with her. At night. After he texted her. That'd be a jerk thing to do.

But—

There's always a but.

It happens at least two times a week.

He was at a party awhile back where Puck got so drunk he was down to his underwear so he had to take him home. When he had finally gotten a half-unconscious and seriously heavy Puck into the backseat of his car, he spotted a girl standing on the porch of Mike's house. He recognized her from somewhere, but he didn't remember her name. She was shivering though, rubbing her arms to try and create some heat as she leaned against the wall behind her.

He sighed, looking over at Puck, who seemed unconscious enough to leave him alone for a minute. He kicks the door shut behind him, muttering something about being right back when he walks over to her. It's dark and he can't quite make out her face but he swears he knows her.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks carefully because he's not about to be accused of molestation or kidnapping. His mom would be so pissed off.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answers, biting down on her lip and he nods, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and ready to get back to his car when she hesitates before saying, "It's just, my daddy was supposed to pick me up but now he's not answering his telephone and some guy just tried to," she pauses, her cheeks turning slightly red, as she lowers her voice, "grab my _butt_."

He laughs a little and she frowns, crossing her arms and stepping out into the light. American History! She takes American History with him! Ha! He knows her. Kind of. He's seen her like twice.

"Excuse me? God, I know I shouldn't have come to this outrageously dumb party. I tell you some buffoon just _assaulted_ me and if it hadn't been for my rape whistle and seriously amazing shot when it comes to his genitalia—"

He doesn't really know what to say and according to Puck the only way to shut girls up is kiss them or, he told him with a smirk, make them sit on your face (he hasn't quite figured out the purpose of that but he's getting there) so he just interrupts her. "Are—Are you cold?" He asks, his eyebrows raised, taking off his jacket and offering it to her.

"Yes," she states, taking it from him, shivering as if to showcase that she's telling the truth. She adds more softly, "Thank you."

"Do you want a ride? I have to drop off my friend first but, uhh, I could totally drop you off after."

"How long have you had your license?" She asks warily, eyeing him and pulling his jacket tighter around her waist, shaking her legs a little to keep warm.

"Four months, but I haven't had any accidents," he retorts quickly and technically he isn't lying. He had an accident _before_ getting his license, and he's still recovering, but he hasn't had one since. He's a careful driver.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No?"

What's up with all the questions? Seriously.

"And you're not a serial killer or anything?" She narrows her eyes and he frowns, confused. "If I was, should I be telling you?"

She checks her phone and looks around, biting down on her lip one more time before nodding her head. "Fine. Yes, please. I'd like to accept your offer to drive me home."

"O—okay," he says, not entirely sure what to say as he nods for her to follow him. "I'm Finn," he tells her, "By the way," as he starts the car and puts on the heat for her. He looks over at her and really isn't that surprised she was so cold anyway. Her legs look really good in that skirt and he has this weird urge to reach out and touch her knee but was it worth almost freezing to death? Girl logic man.

"I know," she clears her throat, resting her hands on her thighs, "I mean, I'm Rachel."

"Oh, cool," he half-grins, looking over at her before backing out of his spot next to the road. "The guy sleeping in the back is Puck."

She scrunches her nose, nodding to herself as she reaches out to turn the radio up. He normally doesn't let anyone change the station to anything that isn't classic rock but she hums along quietly until they reach Puck's house. He kinda likes it. She has a good voice.

He sighs and tells her to wait in the car but when he opens the door and tries to figure out how to get Puck out of the car without giving him a concussion, he hears her voice.

"If you take his shoulders, I'll take his feet?" She offers and he nods, thankfully as he manages to pull him out just enough to sit him against the car. It's pretty difficult manoeuvring him into the house without waking Mrs. P up, but when they finally reach the couch he sighs thankfully, wiping a little sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he motions at Rachel that they should get back to the car.

When they reach her house she sends him a tight smile, "Thanks for driving me home, Finn."

"Thanks for helping Puck into the house without getting caught. Mrs. P would've killed us both, or like, assumed we were about to do a threesome," he colors a little bit at his words because he basically just suggested something dirty as he adds, "I mean, she thinks the worst of her son."

She nods, uncrossing one leg from the other and he thinks he stared a little too long because when he looks up, _she_'s staring at _him_. He clears his throat and wettens his dry lips and can't seem to look away from her.

"You know," her voice sounds hoarse as she licks her own lips, pausing before saying, "You can kiss me if you want to."

He nods, once, then again, mentally saying the words '_I do, I do want to, so badly_' because he can't seem to be able to form any words right now. Instead, he leans forward and connects their lips until he can't breathe anymore.

He looks at her, and she's pretty. Sure, she isn't Santana Sexy or Quinn Beautiful but those girls are evil inside. And she's pretty, in her own way. She doesn't pant, because apparently she's got some killer lungs and instead pulls him back again, her eyes still closed.

Somehow they end up on the back seat and it isn't like romantic or expected or very long and he thinks he asked her if she was okay like twenty times but something about it is kind of magical. He blames it on it being his first time and he's kind of in like this haze because it felt really good.

He feels kind of guilty after because he figures she didn't really you know, come but when he looks at her, she smiles, her chest heaving up and down and reaches out to run a hand through his hair. She kind of looks completely okay with it and it's super weird because she's a chick. Isn't this supposed to be all special with someone they love and not like on the backseat of a car with a stranger?

She gets dressed and puts her number on his phone and they peck lips like they've been married for five years before she beams at him and leaves him alone in his car.

He's a little bit freaked out for a while and nothing really happens. Like they see each other at school but it stays strictly friendly. They exchange smiles now and then but she doesn't try to talk to him and he doesn't try to talk to her.

He thought maybe she'd planned it, you know, having sex with him and then telling everything at school because she wanted her five seconds of fame or something—not to be a asshole—but he was kind of popular. Maybe she was waiting for the perfect moment.

The ball hadn't dropped. He had this fling with Quinn. Nothing happened. He kissed Quinn once or twice. Nothing happened. He's completely single. Nothing happened.

And he isn't ready for a relationship you know, so when he texts her one night when he's lonely (Puck is hanging out with this new guy Sam, trying to make sure he doesn't go for his chicks and his mom has another nightshift), asking if she wants to come over—watching a movie was not the_ first _thing on his mind.

Neither on hers, because the minute he let her in, she kissed him.

"Wait, Rachel—W-why...How…I—" He tries to explain that he isn't like, looking for something serious and spontaneously asking if she's really okay with this and won't turn all crazy-stalkerish in a few months.

"I know," she breathes heavily, cutting him off, "I won't get attached. Only physical stuff, okay?"

It stings a little, to be honest, but when they have sex later and she comes too this time, he feels pretty amazing.

After that it just kind of happens regularly. He texts her whenever, and she usually comes over to this house because his mom is usually away and at least if they get caught he won't get beat up by two—yes, two—angry dads.

They don't really talk. Sometimes they watch really bad infomercials together and sometimes they eat ice cream in bed but they don't really talk. Just useless, careless comments. Most of them he doesn't even remember.

She likes to complain about not getting her beauty rest and he likes to tell her she looks beautiful anyway and it's just a thing between them. That happens. Like twice a week. Sometimes three times, sometimes once.

Casual. It's all cool.

.

Puck didn't really have an extensive list of rules or criteria the chicks had to add up to and he technically never said they couldn't be the same. Because he's not like, being lazy here or anything but he swears to God, him and Rachel just naturally progressed into well, him and chick number four.

After she went away on a six-week cruise to Boring Boring—or whatever the hell she called it—with her dads for the summer, they never really started their_ thing_ back up.

But he missed her. Not like, the sex stuff, even though he also really missed getting laid on a regular basis but the being able to be yourself with someone else part, you know? Like, he could just like walk around Rachel naked but he could also say stuff he thought would sound dumb saying to anyone else. Whatever. It was just like, a thing.

Besides, it's senior year now and he's practically a grown up. Time to act like a man. No more hiding and having careless sex. They could totally just be friends.

"How was the cruise?" He asks, leaning against the locker next to hers and she holds back a smile, trying really hard not to look at him as she puts a few books in her locker. "To Yoki...Uno...Borsa...Bokey?"

"Bora bora?" She sighs blissfully, brushing a hand over her hair before answering, "It was completely amazing. I feel so relaxed. I hiked everyday and I drank kale juice for the first time—I'm now addicted—and I just feel so_ brand_ new, you know?"

"Cool," he nods, half-grinning. He doesn't know why people like to hike for fun, or drink kale, whatever that is, but he likes how she looks so happy. She finally turns to look at him and his grin widens, "Did you cut your hair?"

"We're talking now?" She beams, reaching up to fix her bangs unconsciously, lowering her voice jokingly, mocking outrage. "_In public_?"

"Rach.." He sighs, running a hand over his face, "I thought you said—"

"I was kidding, Finn," she giggles lowly, closing her locker gently. As she pushes a notebook to her chest and starts walking to her class.

"Wait, you were kidding about when you said you only wanted the physical stuff or you were kidding about—" He follows her down the hallways, tightening his grip on the strap of his backpack.

"Finn," she remarks, sighing again, before telling him, this time softly, "It's fine. How was your summer?"

They do friend stuff. She helps him with his algebra homework and he helps her study lines for the school musical. He learns a lot of stuff about her. Like how dramatic storm offs are totally her thing, how he was totally right about her having a killer voice and how she's amazing a baking banana bread.

They're friends. He's her friend, she's his.

"You dating the Schnoz or something?" Puck asks him over a game of Tombraider. There's something about playing a kickass girl that is super awesome.

"No, we're just hanging out," he says casually, because they are, as he makes Lara Croft roundhouse kick a bad guy in the face.

"Since when do you 'hang out' with chicks?" He jerks the controller out of his hand in the middle of a BONUS round, claiming it's his turn.

"_Dick_," he mutters, crossing his arms as he leans back against his bed.

"Well?"

He exclaims annoyed that, "_Well_—it is what is. We're...friends."

"Oh God, you're totally doing it!" He laughs, almost maniacally, leaning back and running his hands over his head out of disbelief, "You're nailing, _Berry_! I knew you weren't just friends. Who would've thought that fucking prude was such a little sex kitten? Jesus_ fuck_, this is amazing."

Finn swallows hard, balling his fists, "Don't talk about her like that, okay?"

He never actually told Puck he was sleeping with Rachel last year, he just told him he hooked up with someone the night of the party and then proceeded to make up several girls after that. There was a Tracy, Danielle and a Carole (which he admits was stupid and weird and awkward but he couldn't think of a different name besides his MOM'S fast enough when Puck found Rachel's necklace on the floor and it was the first name that came to mind).

"Easy, boy." Puck smirks as he looks over at his best friend. "I'm proud of you. Girl número cuatro, huh? Never thought you'd come this far."

He doesn't say anything even though they haven't been sleeping together since they became friends but at least it gets him off his back.

"I always thought you'd skip right to number one and marry a chick like Quinn Fabray."

Finn rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe now you will."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've seen you look at her."

It's pretty obvious. They started hanging out when Finn dated her, not like you could call it dating, hence why she doesn't count in his string of girls, and he stopped sleeping with Santana soon after. He claimed she liked 'vagina sex better than penis sex', but they both knew better.

He huffs, pretending to focus on the game, "Whatever."

He pushes Finn. Finn pushes back.

They don't talk about it again.

Him and Rachel? Total badass friends. He's fine with being friends.

Until one time, when Puck purposely makes a comment about her nose and he defends her without thinking about it because anger just bubbles up and leaves his throat in the form of words and beams at him. That's not it. That's not the until one time he was talking about. It's after when she pulls him to her car during lunch.

"I wanted to thank you," she bites down on her lip nervously, "Can I?"

He sends her a look and she nods down to his crotch. His eyes widen and he gulps, stuttering, he manages to get out the following words: "Yes. Totally."

He wanted to say so many things, like _you don't have to_, and_ really, Rachel, what good will come of it when we're supposed to be friends_, but she's already unzipping his pants and he's a guy. A guy who hasn't had female contact in that area since like, well, Rachel.

She takes him in his mouth and he swears to like God or Jesus or something—she tattoos his name right on his heart in that minute. It feels so good, he thinks he might be dying right that minute. He finishes and she swallows and he think that's pretty fucking cool. She places a kiss on the side of his mouth before breathing a thank you in his ear and before he can say anything she leaves him by himself.

Just friends. Yeah.

Fuck.

Then, weeks later, having completely ignored what went down (or up?) she's singing a song to him, something about not raining on a parade or something and it's the best thing he's ever head. He knows it sounds kind of stupid since they're like friends and he's obviously biased, but he knows, he just knows her voice, she's—it's something special.

"_I gotta fly once, I gotta try once, only can die once, right…_" She pauses, swallowing hard, "Right…" She sobs, a tear rolling down as her voice croaks, "S-ir?"

"Rachel, what's wrong?" He asks, quickly getting up from her bed to look at her, leaving his Spanish homework for what it was. He grabs her shoulder and looks at her. Did a bug fly into her eye? Did she stub her toe without him seeing? Was she just having another one of her emotional breakdowns over Barbra Streisand?

"This is the most important audition of my life and I'm so—_stressed out._ I can't sleep and I, I can't eat and I can't br—eathe, Finn, I can't breathe," she rambles quickly and it's hard for him to follow so he just hugs her.

"Look, it's going to be okay, okay, Rach?" He says quietly, kissing her head. He's pretty sure anyone, including this NYADA president or whoever, who hears her voice would fall in love with her. He did.

Shit, he did. He loves her, and it's fucked up. It's all fucked up.

He pulls away, and looks at her, wiping her tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. His heart beats loudly in his chest, "You're going to nail this audition, you hear me? You're amazing."

"Do you really believe in me that much?"

Should he tell her?

"More."

He should tell her. She takes in a shaky breath before she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him, hard, needing. She doesn't need to hear he loves her, she just needs to feel special.

"Can you, can you just make me feel better for a while?" She whispers against the side of his mouth, running a hand over his cheek and he hesitates before he nods against her hair before he leans down to kiss her.

He wants _more_ than friends, he wants to skip right ahead to the boring marriage and number one girl but if all she wants to give him right now is friends with benefits, whatever. He can do that, too.

.

It all comes down to a technicality.

See, he tried to distance himself from Rachel as soon as he figured out that NYADA, New York was _pretty_ far away from the University of Lima, Lima. A fact that was depressing and sucked apeshit but before he in any way blurted out that '_hi, Rachel, I'm totally in love with you_'—he needed to probably try to fall out of love with her.

Which meant not seeing her, which ultimately meant not being there when she needed him.

So here he is.

He's eighteen and all alone and he's trying to obtain his teacher's degree and he misses his mom and the smell of home.

He misses the sound of Puck barging into his room, still hopes for it to happen every time he hears someone's footsteps in the hallway. He misses hearing Mike's music playing from his headphones as he coordinates moves to them when they share a free period. He misses Sam's impressions and Brittany's laugh whenever he explains them to her. He misses Quinn's icy glare whenever he said something wrong, so that was all the time, really. He even misses Santana's snarky remarks during lunch. And Rachel. He misses her most of all.

It's hard but he gets through it.

That's bullshit. He gets through it because he has to. Not because he has some kind of strength deep inside of him, not because he's tough or—or special. He's not special.

One night, it's like 4 a.m. when the fire alarm goes off and he has to leave his dorm room to wait in the freezing cold until the fire department finally discovers someone was probably just smoking weed under the fire detector again. The university of Lima isn't a high-class Ivy league college, but it fits him.

"Rachel," he breathes quietly, a white cloud forming in the air, as he stares at her. She's standing on the sidewalk, shaking from the cold in her pyjamas, rubbing her arms up and down and he feels like he's back in junior year.

He knows she didn't get accepted at NYADA after he totally ditched her and she choked at her audition, but he didn't know she went here. Why the hell would she be _here_?

He brings his gaze back to the crowd of people around him before looking back at her. She's not one of them. She should be somewhere amazing. Her hair is shorter now, reaches till about her shoulders and she looks older but he likes it.

He bites the inside of his cheek, should he...? She looks cold. If she gets pneumonia and can't sing and knows he could've prevented it she'd probably kill him. Twice.

He finally walks over there and breathes a small hi as he puts his jacket around her shoulders.

She accepts it but when she looks up at him it isn't the way she would look at him before.

It's the way she looked at him after she'd had her audition and she was in tears—people were whispering and pointing and making fun of her—and he couldn't bring himself to hug her. He wanted to, badly, but he was frozen—he couldn't move a limb. She must have felt so alone.

"I'm sorry," he clears his throat. He thinks, for ditching you, for not being there for you, for not loving you more than myself. He says, "About NYADA."

"Yeah," she pauses, rocking back and forth on her feet to keep warm, "Me too."

She looks tired, squeezing her eyes closed for a second.

"Here," he says, guiding her to an empty bench as they both sit down. He straightens his t-shirt before looking over at her. God, she takes his breath away.

"What are you studying here, now?" He asks, rubbing his own, now bare, arms and she purses her lips. "Drama. Although the programme here isn't nearly as good as, well, _any _other school, for that matter, it's close to my daddies."

He nods. Grinning a little as he reaches out to touch a strand of her hair, "Your hair looks pretty."

She smiles back at him and doesn't say anything for a while as they both lean back against the bench.

"You left me alone, you know?" She says out of the blue, in a soft, heartbreaking voice as she stuffs her hand into the pockets of his jacket. It's his old high school letterman jacket but he couldn't find anything else on such short notice. She's practically being swallowed by it.

"I know," he swallows hard, thinking about what to say next. "I was, dealing with some things."

Something like Being In Love With Rachel Berry: How Not To Be.

"So was I," she accuses him and his head snaps toward hers.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there when you needed a friend, but I just thought—"

"What? You thought that we were just—having sex? That I would find one of my other lovers to comfort me?" She spits and it's not like her to get this mad. She doesn't get vicious mad, she gets crying mad. "You thought we weren't actually friends?"

"We were never just friends, Rachel, and you know it," he hisses as quietly as possible, "You were supposed to go to New York and leave me behind and do great things. You didn't need me—in that way."

"What exactly made you think _you'd_ be a distraction to _me_?" She bites back and he grunts, frustrated.

"Because I love you—because I loved you and I think I actually loved you so much that I would've tried to stop you from going and that would've been the most selfish thing I could've ever done but I honestly feel like I could've done it."

It's what he wants to say but what eventually comes out of his mouth, his useless, useless mouth, "Remember that F you got for your pop quiz on some honor roll class because you skipped studying to go bowling with me?"

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she bites back and it stings him deeply and harshly. She's never called him dumb, or made him feel like an idiot, always made him feel smart.

"If that's what you think," he struggles out, forcing himself to look away from her because it hurts too much.

"I can make my own decisions, Finn. I'm a grown woman," she hisses through her teeth, trying to keep her voice down. She purses her lips, her eyes filling with tears as she looks away from him "When you chose to stop talking to me you didn't include me on that decision. You just stopped talking to me."

"I'm sorry, okay?" He yells, earning a few stares and whispers, before he lowers his voice again, bitterly, "I'm sorry that I wanted the best for you."

She's quiet for what seems like forever before she sniffs, quietly, she says, "Fine, I forgive you."

He hates her. He hates how she feels so insecure that she would forgive him for such a shitty thing after a half-assed apology. He hates her.

"You really shouldn't," he finally says, sounding angry but really, he's just upset with her. It's the truth though, all the truth he can tell her for now.

"I want to, Finn," she presses, "I'm tired of being angry all the time. I'm tired of not having any friends. I'm tired because I haven't gotten any sleep since I arrived here six weeks ago."

He gives her a questioning look and she looks at him with her sad, big, brown eyes, wiping away the remainder of some stray tears on her cheeks, her voice still a little shaky as she laughs a little. "My roommate has a new guy—or guys, I don't even want to know—over every night. I haven't even met her."

He reaches out to touch her hair, before brushing it behind her ear, not knowing where the new found confidence is coming from. "I did miss you, you know."

"I know," she replies, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling softly against his chest. They're always touching, like it's something they have to. All he knows that if he could, that if it wouldn't ruin everything, he'd touch her everywhere, all the time. "As did I."

He knows, he just fucking knows, it's a bad idea to ask, nothing good could possibly ever come of it, but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself. "You can stay in my dorm tonight, if you want, Rach."

She shifts her head to look at him, adjusts her head as she studies him. She opens her mouth to speak but butts in before she has the chance.

"Just to sleep. I'll sleep on the floor." He pauses, carefully grinning, "Besides, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

He watches her sleep and promises himself that this time—this time he's going to love her right.

_Technically_, she only has his number. She doesn't know where he lives, he doesn't have Facebook and since the whole Puck hacking his e-mail and sending fake nudes to all his contacts (including his boss, their high school guidance counselor Ms. Pillsbury and a bunch of kids from school) he had to create a new one. So_ technically_, she is the third girl. Technically.

Technically, he was already in love with her before.

But, it's in the little things.

It's when she lets him help paint the decorations and stage props for her newest self-produced rendition of Funny Girl and wipes the paint of his face when he messes up and kisses him on the cheek afterwards, for being sweet.

It's also when they ride home (like to their actual parents) together on the bus and their hands brush when he tries to change the song they're listening to on _his_ iPod because it's been all musical and no play and she doesn't flinch and pull away.

It's when she helps him study for the really boring classes and makes him flashcards and encourages him to push through and never, ever, makes him feel like he can't do anything.

When she finally tells him really personal stuff again (like stories about her as a kid, or mentions like, her period which is basically as personal as it gets), and brings him banana bread from home after the weekend and makes him practice her lines with him. When they do the things they used to do. When she trusts him again.

It's when he sees her with the douchebag Jesse, being touched and kissed and held while he's sitting in the audience; a bystander, and prays the douchy douche _actually_ breaks a leg before their next performance.

It's when she smiles.

But, somehow, he fell in love with her all over again.

He signs up for Facebook and types in her name. He clicks on the button next to her name that says 'add as friend'. He grins, a little proud of himself and leans back on his chair, waiting for a reply.

After a while, he gets hungry and goes to get himself a snack when his phone beeps.

_Rachel Berry accepted your friend request. Click here to write something on her timeline._

_._

"_I'm noooooooooooot in looooooveeeeeeee, this is noooooooooooooot my heaaaaaart._"

What? He was supposed to be home alone for the day. So the only logical thing to do was rock out to old school songs in his underwear and an old t-shirt while he ate grilled cheese like he depended on it. Supposed to.

"Finn?"

"Shit!" He quickly mutes the music and shrugs into some sweatpants that look half-clean.

"Bro, what kind of fucked up shit did you smoke in that stupid college of yours," Puck snorts as he falls down on Finn's bed. He'd hug him if he hadn't seen him at Mrs. P's house for a welcome-home-Puck-whatever-you've-been-doing-in-New Haven-and-it's-almost-Hanukkah-anyway-so-invite-your-friends-before-I-have-to-shun-them-because-they-celebrate-Christmas dinner and if they hadn't facetimed two and a half hours last night while they played Call Of Duty.

"Ha-ha. What's up?" Finn asks, sitting down on his desk-chair after throwing the clothes previously buried on top of it on the floor.

He clears his throat and Finn raises his eyebrows. This must be good.

Did Quinn ask him to marry him? Is he going to jail for embezzlement? Is he enrolling at Yale?

"I'm joining the airforce, dude."

"The air force? You?" Finn huffs, feeling bad when he spots the look on his best friend's face. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly as Puck's glares holes into his forehead. "I mean, uhh, why?"

"I don't know, man. I feel like I should do something important, you know," he mentions carefully before throwing a pillow Finn's way, adding, jokingly, "YOLO, and all, right?"

Finn nods, pulling on some loose threads of his pillow, but he knows Puck's trying to admit something important here, and he can't be an asshole about it, even though if it were the other way around he'd never hear the end of what kind of pussy he was.

"So, Quinn's knocked up?" Finn laughs, because he couldn't resist getting in one little dig.

Puck picks up Finn's alarm clock from his nightstand and threatens to throw it. Finn thinks he seriously would've done it if it hadn't been for him holding up his hands in surrender.

"No, I'm happy for you, bro," Finn grins, and he truly is. "It took you two and a half years to get your shit together after high school, but here we finally are."

"And you're supposed to become a teacher? Your encouraging well-done-boy speeches SUCK."

"Your FACE sucks."

This time it's a dirty sock that gets thrown into his face and he swears he can taste it.

"What changed?" Finn asks, seriously, throwing the sock on the floor and wiping his face by pulling his t-shirt up to his head, "Why the air force? Why now?"

He pauses, hesitating before answering, "I know I should be plowing my way through hot college girls without actually enrolling and drinking beer like my father did and breaking the law like I've always done, because that's in like, my DNA or some shit, but I have a chance to change my destiny here, you know? Change the Puckerman gene before it's too late. Break the chain."

"Oh, so she_ is _pregnant?" He jokes

"No," Puck rolls his eyes, mentioning his little sister, "Sarah."

"Shit, Sarah's pregnant?" Finn's eyes widen and Puck sighs loudly, closing his eyes in annoyance.

"No, you fucking dipshit," he spits, "I want to give her a good example."

He nods, raising his eyebrows, "And for Quinn."

Puck inhales deeply, stating, "And for Quinn."

Finn nods to himself a few times again, chewing on the inside of his lip as he thinks about all those times when they were younger and Puck swore he was going to be either dead or famous or in prison or all of the above before he turned 21 and he always swore he'd end up as a Lima loser, with a job at sheets 'n things and an unhappy wife like Quinn Fabray (before Puck helped her become a better person,_ too_).

They both didn't know what they wanted or how to change what they wanted. But he's happy, because they both did it. They both became something better than they ever dreamed of.

"What about you and Berry?"

"What about us?"

"Are you… Did you…" He tilts his head, left, right, annoyed at Finn for not catching on. He sighs loudly and aggravated, before barking, "Are you fucking again or what?"

"Jesus Christ, Puck!"

"My bad," he softens his voice, pouting his lips, "_Making love_?"

"No, we're not making love or, or fucking! We're just friends."

"Mhm, that's why your entire face light up like a fucking Christmas tree at dinner when Quinn mentioned she'd seen her at the supermarket the day before."

"It did not," he refuses, sternly, crossing his arms defensively.

"The fucking supermarket, Finn. That isn't even something sexy, like, let's say Quinn said she'd ran into her while they were both trying on lingerie at Victoria's Secret and took pics together."

"That's…" Finn shakes his head, not even knowing what to say.

"All I'm saying is that life is short and that if you like her, make a fucking move, asshole, it's seriously been like five fucking years—if not, move the hell on."

And so—thanks to his amazingly annoying best friend—he realizes Rachel has become his fourth girl. The one would've been number one if there wasn't something wrong with her. So, he makes a list, just to like, showcase that he's right like Ten Things I Hate About You For Realz and all:

one: she's really needy, like high maintenance call you in the middle of the night and ask you to rub my feet after show nights and bring me flowers once a week needy and all.

two: she sings like all the time, like during dinner, under the shower, when she's walking, when she breathes, it can be annoying if you're like deaf and stuff.

three: jesse, like he hates that douche and that douche is part of rachel now and he's touching her with his douchey hands and kissing her with his douchey mouth and influencing her with his douchey words and annoying him with his doucheness; he's a douche.

four: she's bossy, which is like kind of hot but also very, very hot—and irritating, yes, super irritating.

five: she loves cats and musicals and the musical cats and feels the need to wear clothes spelling these facts out

six: she… she's really pretty! ha! other guys will be flirting with her when they're out.

seven: ¿ . . . . . ?

eight: she cries. like a lot. like all the time and everywhere and about silly things. imagine the tissues he'd have to buy—seriously expensive.

nine: she's infatuated by barbra streisand and likes to call him in the middle of the night raving about funny girl or her newest album or whatever—it's the freaking middle of the night

ten: she's insecure (hello, why?) and jealous (like one time she got mad because he had a study session with margaret from his english class and didn't inform her and proceeded to shun him for three days and another time she kicked mercedes from school in the shin for 'stealing' her solo at the pep-assembly) and stubborn

He adds eleven:_ she makes me love her more everyday_ and crosses it out.

He spends Christmas with his family and reserves New Year's for his friends. Mike throws a party at his house (like old times, huh) and friends invited friends who invited friends and long story short, a small get-together turned into a true rave. There's _a lot_ of people.

So if he was good at math, which he isn't, he would've figured out the odds were very big that she'd be there, too. But they're friends now, best friends, so what could possibly be different at home then away at school?

Well, Finn Hudson, he think to himself sarcastically at the end of the night;

First of all there's a lot of alcohol. To be fair, he comes across his share of vomiting people at school. Rachel's usually one to resist because she has midterms and essays and tutor sessions to worry about but during christmas break—you guessed it—there wasn't anything around to worry about.

(If you aren't catching on—by the time they've made their ways through the usual boring 'how have you been's', 'what you've been up to's' and the occasional flirtatious attempts—they're both piss drunk and Rachel's a needy one.)

Second of all, Jesse isn't there. When Jesse isn't there, Rachel gets extra touchy.

Third of all, well, fuck it. There's just a lot of circumstances that influenced them, okay? History and nostalgiona or whatever and like, their friendship.

Or at least that's what he's able to tell himself when she's sitting on the counter, kissing his neck and he's running his hands up her sides and it's all a blur of hands and mouths and God, she smells so good.

Before anything can happen that would absolutely cross the line of friendship (like his tongue in her mouth), he pulls away and distances himself from her, pressing his back to the refrigerator next to her position on the counter. He pants, hoping the coolness will make his heart pound normally in his chest and clear his head.

"Finn," she breathes, her eyes closed, "Just kiss me."

"Rach," he states, implying a heavy '_we can't_'. He can't look at her, but he does. He's really trying hard here to do the right thing and not be the asshole here.

"Please," she pleads, reaching down to intertwine their fingers softly and he pulls away. She looks at him, her big brown eyes watery and sad and _betrayed_ and oh God—what did he do?

"I understand," she swallows hard, getting off the counter and storming outside.

"Shit," he mutters, ready to punch himself, and he suddenly feels pretty sober. He follows after her, finding her on the steps of Mike's porch and he can't believe they keep ending up here.

He sits down next to her carefully, leaving enough room between them in case he needs to throw up. He feels like throwing up. He might throw up.

"You know," she sniffs, and he can't tell she's drunk by the way she wipes away her tears angrily, "When I slept with you that first time, I was in a really bad place like I thought no guy would ever want me—" she looks at him before looking away, a tear rolling down her cheek and leaving a slightly black mark, "and then _you _did. You paid attention to me, you made me feel beautiful and special and _noticed_."

He opens his mouth to say something but she stops him. She sniffs again, her voice breaking when she speaks, "So we had sex," she laughs a little to herself, before wiping away a few stray tears and continueing, "And I didn't say anything because it was like you chose me but I still cried in my room after."

He puts his hand on her arms and she shakes her head, looking up at him, biting on the inside of her cheek.

"Do you regret it?" He hesitates, getting all his courage together and asking her. She shakes her head no, smiling a little. "I wouldn't never take it back, Finn. It wasn't how I'd imagined it, but it was with you."

"Is that's how you really feel?"

She shrugs, looking away.

"When it started become a thing, between us, I mean, I felt like it justified it—like you know, if it was a regular thing at least it was real."

"It was," he urges, because if there's one thing he needs her to believe, anyone to believe, it's that what he felt for her was real, what they had was real, even if she didn't feel the same.

She challenges him, her eyes disbelieving and doubtful. "You chose me."

"I think I did."

She leans her head on his shoulder, sighing loudly and he puts his arm around her. They both sit there for a while before she eventually falls asleep and he has to carry her to his step-brother's car, the designated driver for the night, certainly a little lighter than the last time they were in this position.

When Kurt drives them home, and he sits on the backseat with her head on his lap, he realizes he should just tell her.

He should tell her he thinks he fell in love with her the first time he saw her in class, but just didn't know it then. He didn't know it when they were friends. Then he knew, and didn't want to (he should probably leave that out) before he wanted to know and she didn't. He's tired of feeling like this, like he could be happy but was choosing not to. No, he choses to be happy, he does, and he chooses her. Even if that means it'll be the end.

She needs to know.

He's going to tell her.

He has to.

He almost tells her once when they're dog-sitting McConaughey in the park while Sam gets himself a hotdog, then he figures things might get awkward when he comes back while he's in the middle of being rejected.

He sees Quinn. He asks her for advice. She tells him, not even bothering to look up from the book she's reading, to just '_say something nice, girls like it when you say something nice_'. Puck adds that he should '_grow some balls'_.

He almost tells her, too, when they're eating vegan Thai takeout at her house while her dad's are out to a party and she asks him to wipe the sauce he's been pointing at her for five minutes now off her face.

He almost tells when they go for a jog in the morning because apparently leaving a healthier life and jogging were in Rachel's Great New Years Resolutions That Are Required For Everyone Around Me Too.

He tells her.

It's when they're doing something really stupid, something he doesn't even think is significant, like they were watching a movie with Kurt (who befriended Rachel last summer and now _Finn's_ the third wheel most of the time) or something and she was telling them some story when he just blurted out that, well, he loves her.

Kurt's eyes turn alarmingly big as he blurts out some excuse to get away, like getting popcorn while they both know he's going to stand in the kitchen for ten minutes pretending to make popcorn while_ actually_, he's just eavesdropping.

She blinks at him a few times before forcing out a, "E-excuse me?"

Shit. She wants an explanation. _Of course_ she wants to have an explanation.

So he stutters and rambles and tries to make something of his thoughts, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything because I know we're friends and I know you have a boyfriend and probably a ton of other reasons but I do. I love you. In like, not the friendly way."

She stumbles on her words as she tells him she has to go and he freaking knew this would happen. He knew she wouldn't feel the same.

Ten minutes later, when he's still staring off into space, Kurt brings him a hot cocoa and a sympathetic clap on the back.

"Just give her time," he offers, smiling comfortingly and Finn thinks he would wait for her for all the time in the world, if it would just make her love him back for one minute.

"Thanks."

She isn't on the bus to school and she isn't waiting for him in the library for the tutor session on Monday and she isn't waiting for him on his dorm room when he comes home from the gym on Saturday to have their usual pizza-and-a-movie Saturday night.

He wants to go over to her dorm or the auditorium or even, at times, gets so paranoid he's ready to bust down the girl's bathroom if necessary, just to see her.

But he doesn't, because Kurt's right, he should give her some time. God and everyone and their mother know it took him time.

(It doesn't stop his heart from breaking into a million tiny pieces when he sees her laughing and walking down the hallways with some of her drama friends and Jesse. She doesn't need him, he gets it.)

.

School. Old school U2 music. Skype sessions with and random visits by his old friends. Hanging out with his college friends in the weekends. They're all distractions but they certainly pull him through his third year now he doesn't get any help from Rachel.

He'd say it was selfish of her to just leave him by his lonesome to study all this shit in the middle of a school year but then again, he did tell her he loved her out of the blue after a years long friendship.

And it's not like he gets through it alone.

Scary-Smart-Quinn helps him with algebra over skype from New Haven (with Puck occasionally showing up in the background just to check if they aren't doing something 'dirty'), Mike helps him with whatever he can since he's at pre-med half an hour from his school so they hang out sometimes anyway and even _Santana_ helps him study Spanish (which everyone said would be an easy class to take after high school which really, was a huge joke) when he's home in the weekends in return for two snickers and a mars, but still.

It's not like he's super dumb or anything, he just needs a little help now and then. When he gets it, he really gets it.

(Like when he got that he loved Rachel, he_ really_ loved her.)

It's during spring break when, finally confronted face on at the community pool he usually wastes his days in with Puck, he finally talks to her again.

He's just chilling on the grass trying to make his hands less oily by wiping them on it after having just rubbed lotion on Brittany's back, when Puck nudges him in the ribs.

It's Rachel, and it's been like two and half months since they talked, with Tina, one of her friends.

"She's hot," Mike exclaims, his eyes on Tina, thinking Puck meant he spotted some hot chicks instead of seeing Finn's Kind Of Ex If Sex And A Weird Friendship Count Too.

Quinn lowers her shades from her eyes, resting them on her nose as she studies the girls. Brittany and Santana return laughing from the pool and the latter falls down next to Quinn, following her gaze.

"Finn," Brittany takes her hair in her hands and puts it on one shoulder, squeezing it to get some water out, as she moves up and down excitedly, "Will you_ please_ come with me? Santana keeps complaining about her hair getting wet, and I know for a fact you have nothing to worry about in the hair department."

So she just totally insulted his hairdo in her way but he can't resist coming with her anyway, at least he can get a better look of Rachel. Puck winks at him, wiggling his eyebrows, causing Finn to roll his eyes in return, sending him the finger before turning back to Brittany and surprise-attacking her by picking her up and cannon-balling into the pool.

When they emerge from the water, laughing, she splashes him repeatedly before deciding to show him her headstand. When he looks up, still laughing just thinking about the look on Brittany's face, he sees Rachel staring at him.

Awkward.

Later, when he's single handedly trying to carry seven ice cream cones, she finds him. Her hair's down in waves and she's wearing a pretty sundress over her bikini.

"Hi Finn," she clears her throat softly and he suddenly feels annoyed.

So what he told her he loved her? That was no reason to ditch him and stop talking to him and okay, he'd done the same to her when he was like eighteen—but they were adults now. He was about to be a teacher and she was going to be on Broadway one day soon. You can't give people the cold shoulder because you don't like what they say.

Still, his heart swells up to about ten times it's size as he tries to casually say, "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just, I wanted to say hi."

Well, you did.. He wants to snap but he can't, so he just nods.

Ice cream is dripping down his hands and he's scared shitless he's going to drop one, so he nudges for her to follow him as he starts walking back to their spot. Santana gets prissy when she has to wait.

"So, you're here alone or?" He asks, trying to break the awkward silence, even though he already knows the answer.

"No, Tina invited me. I'm giving her singing lessons and she's being my friend in return," she jokes, a bitter tone to her voice and he looks at her.

"I'm sure she likes you," he offers and she looks up at him, huffing, "Not like you did."

"I think we already established I liked you a little too much," he snorts, finally spotting his friends and he spots his friends coming closer in view.

She doesn't say anything, just cracks a little smile and he's glad, he's glad he still get her to smile. And he hates that.

"You want to go see that new book film you like so much tonight?" He raises his eyebrows, because it's like letting her know he still knows her without actually spelling it out.

She nods, thankfully, and sends him a small smile before pointing her thumb towards Tina. He nods towards the ice cream, grinning just a little.

She nods again, ready to walk away before adding, "Just, uh, text me or something, okay, Finn?" She bites down on her bottom lip and he swears his name leaving her lips sends chills all over spine.

"Cool," he half-grins and she looks down, smiling before hurrying back to Tina.

They don't really say anything on the way there in his truck, or when he's buying them tickets. She also doesn't say anything when they order popcorn and she doesn't say anything when they wait for the movie to start.

She leans up to kiss his cheeks when he picks her up, though. And she holds his arm when they wait in line. And finally, she takes his hand in hers after the break.

He doesn't know what she's doing, or why, but he lets her anyway.

"Thank you for taking me," she says quietly, fixing her bangs out of her eyes as they walk to his truck. "I know Kurt said he'd go with me, but he's so busy with Blaine and his job at Vogue that I really don't see how he could've made the time."

He chuckles, swinging his key around his finger, "No, they're practically attached to the hip."

"Me and Jesse broke-up," she blurts out, wincing and closing her eyes in embarrassment.

"Oh, that sucks," he answers lamely before wanting to ask something polite like 'was it mutual' when she plants her lips on his.

He frowns as she pulls away and she explains, "Thank you. For being such a good friend when I needed one."

"Oh." He looks away quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. This is not what he expected. He sighs. "Look, Rachel, we can't keep doing this. Friends don't kiss friends."

"Finn," she says sternly as she stops walking, he looks at her and she smiles a little. "I'm not good at this sort of thing but—I'm not asking for our friendship back."

"What? So this is like a goodbye kiss?" He snaps, frustrated and confused and heartbroken. He has to stop loving her. He has to. It hurts too much.

"No," she licks her dry lips, trying to find the right words, "I just—remember when we were practicing my audition for NYADA and I started crying? How I told you I couldn't eat, or sleep or breathe?"

"I remember Rachel, I remember everything about you, even the stuff I don't want. Like how you stopped talking to me after I told you I loved you!"

"I feel that way about you, Finn," she exclaims, "I can't eat, and I can't sleep and I can't _breathe_ when I think about you—when I think of not having you in my life."

He gapes at her, opens his mouth, once, twice, trying to find any words in his brain left to express how he feels right now, but he can't.

"Because I love you, too," she whispers quietly, looking down before staring right back up at him. "The question is… Do you still love me?"

He grabs her face and kisses her, like he's wanted to kiss her for years. Not hungry and lustful like all those before, but passionate and sweet—one he can express all his feelings in.

They pull away after a while and she puts her hands over his. "I'm so incredibly sorry for what I did. But I was scared, that I'd screw it up and that I'd lose you or that you hadn't meant it."

For such a smart girl, she can be really dumb. "What changed?"

"I've been feeling so incredibly homesick for the past few months and then I realized my home wasn't somewhere, it was someone," she smiles tearfully, taking his hands of her face and holding them in between their bodies, softly, she adds, "It's you."

He can see it then. They'll move to New York and buy one of those little shoebox apartments that has like a shower in the kitchen. She'll be on Broadway, singing songs like she was born to do, and he'll teach at a high school in New York, occasionally helping a kid, a kid like him, who's a little lost but needs some help to find the way. Then they'll get married and she'll wear a white dress and he'll wear a tux and they'll dance to a musical song, he's sure. They'll have kids, as many as she wants, and more. And they'll share a life; like they were made to do.

Because he doesn't feel like himself without her and he doesn't think he can_ be_ without her.

She's his number one—she has been all along, and now he knows he's hers, too.

(By the way, Puck can totally go screw himself. His theory sucked.)

.

_right now i think you see_

_there ain't nothing bout you that _

_don't do something for me_

.


End file.
